Quackers
by Leftomaniac
Summary: The examination continues, and a cure for hypochondriasis is found.
1. Meet the Doctor

The office of Hargrove Stevens was very spacious, with oak paneled walls and a large, wooden desk in the center. Files and papers were arranged in neat little piles on said desk, giving the room an air of almost anal organization. Behind the desk stood Hargrove Stevens himself, owner of the Stevens Private Healthcare clinic, looking very prim in his crisp, dark suit. An impatient scowl was scrawled across his face, directed at the dark haired, middle aged woman in front of him. Her name was Agatha Hermine. She wore a modest but expensive looking black dress with a smallish white shawl, and her face was a mask of concern.  
  
"Madam," Mr. Stevens began, "we've been waiting here nearly two hours and your great neurosurgeon has still not arrived. I'm beginning to seriously doubt whether he intends to come at all. What's more, I'm calling into question the things you've told me about his abilities as a member of the medical profession."  
  
"I don't understand..." Mrs. Hermine flustered, "Arthur C. Penknife has never been late before." Something in her expression and tone suggested this was not only an exaggeration, but a bald-faced lie.  
  
"Mrs. Hermine," Hargrove said with a note of sloppy romanticism, "You know I have nothing but respect for you as an investor, and I'm normally happy to take on your recommendations" the sweetness in his voice abruptly ended. "But if I have to wait here even one more second-"   
  
He was suddenly cut off by the sharp banging of a door being flung open. Into the office walked an unusual looking man with a large, dark mustache and a pair of wire spectacles. Following him was a man whose appearance was much less striking, but who wore an expression suggesting looks can be deceiving.  
  
"...Positively the worst hotel I ever stayed at!" Dr. Penknife said, turning to the other man. "Not even a swimming pool. And do they call that fossilized Jell-O room service?" He turned to the other two as if just noticing they were there. "Are you the manager of this crummy joint?" He asked Mr. Sevens.  
  
Hargrove Stevens looked peeved. He'd probably have been much angrier if his rage hadn't been tempered by confusion. "I am Hargrove Stevens," he said, with the air of a man who is used to his name carrying weight "and I am the owner of this hospital." he finished, putting emphasis on the word 'hospital.'  
  
"Rest assured, you have my deepest sympathies" replied Dr. Penknife.  
  
Mrs.Hermine took this opportunity to speak. "Mr. Stevens, this is the man I've been telling you about, Dr. Arthur C. Penknife."  
  
"Say, just what is it you're implying?" Dr. Penknife said, turning to Mrs. Hermine. "Are you accusing me of being Arthur C. Penknife? Why, I once beat a man within an inch of his life for less than that. I also beat a wife within an inch of her man one time." Mrs. Stevens opened her mouth to say something, but was cut off. "I beat her in a game of checkers. She was pretty cross, I can tell her, losing to me right in front of her husband like that. If you want proof, I can show you the checkers." He paused to take a cigar out of his coat pocket, putting it in his mouth without lighting it.  
  
Mr. Stevens looked outraged. "This is your world-famous neurosurgeon, Mrs. Hermine?" He asked in disbelief.  
  
Attempting to diffuse the situation, Mrs. Hermine tactfully changed the subject. "Em, tell me Doctor, who is this gentleman with you?" She indicated the man who had been standing quietly by the door since entry.  
  
"Him?" Dr. Penknife turned, "Why, I've never seen that man before in my life."  
  
Mrs. Hermine was confused. "But ... you came in together."  
  
"Of course we came in together." Dr. Penknife replied, "That's Harrison, the med student with a heart of gold, and a couple of other organs as well. Speaking of organs, who do I have to call to get this guy removed?" he gestured to Mr. Stevens with his cigar.  
  
Harrison waited patiently for him to finish, then spoke. "I'm studying under Dr. Penknife." he explained.  
  
"Oh," Mrs. Hermine said pleasantly. "You must be learning quite a lot."  
  
"Oh yes, more than you'd suspect," Harrison grinned. "Why just the other day-"  
  
"Not in mixed company, Harrison." Dr. Penknife advised. Harrison nodded.  
  
Desperately, Mrs. Hermine tried to turn the conversation around. "Well, Dr. Penknife, as you must already know, the ambassador to Indonesia is dreadfully ill, and in desperate need of your medical expertise."  
  
"Well, tell him he can borrow it, but I'll need it back within the week."  
  
"The ambassador's health is failing," Mrs. Hermine continued in a high, warbling voice, her melodrama a sharp contrast to Dr. Penknife, who had apparently noticed that he had something on his shoe, and was trying to remove it by scraping it off on Mr. Stevens's desk, in a very unbalanced position. "His life is in your hands. I do not need to tell you how important this man is-"  
  
"Don't you? Well then why are you telling me? Why am I even here? Tell you what, I'll leave, and you can stay and tell it to the judge. If that dosen't work you can tell it to the marines. I think the marines would have a thing or two to tell you as well. Say, does this look like gum to you?" As Dr. Penknife spoke, he had given up on the desk and propelled himself away from it, nearly crashing into Mrs. Hermine as he did so. He then held up his foot for her to examine. She tried to ignore it.  
  
"Were you able to cure him," she elaborated with an air of impatience, "You would earn the respect and admiration of the entire medical community.  
  
"Never mind that, how much does it pay?" asked Dr. Penknife, now trying to scrape his shoe off against the wall, hopping on one foot to do so.  
  
Perhaps sobered by Mrs. Hermine's speech, Mr. Stevens's voice lost it's note of anger, which was replaced by a quiet contempt. "Under the current circumstances, and considering the complexity of a procedure like this, the hospital is prepared to offer you... thirty thousand dollars."  
  
"Thirty thous- THIRTY thousand DOLLARS!?" Dr. Penknife's eyes lit up as he flew away from the wall. He quickly adopted a skeptical expression. "How about forty?"  
  
"Excuse me!?"  
  
"All right, thirty-five, but I'm losing on the deal."  
  
Mr. Stevens looked dumbstruck. Eager to end the conversation, he noncommittally said "I will ... consider it."  
  
Dr. Penknife turned and shook Mrs. Hermine's hand enthusiastically. "Ladies and gentlemen, you have yourselves a neurosurgeon! Come on Harrison, let's get out of this dump before we're noticed." Without anything further he dashed out the door in a crouch, followed closely by Harrison. Mrs. Hermine giggled slightly, while Mr. Stevens rubbed his head and moaned. 


	2. Waiting Room Argument

For a short time I considered not continuing this fic. But so many people seemed to like it and there are so few fics in this category. Then, for a while, I *couldn't* continue it, no matter how hard I tried. But then, suddenly, it came to me like a flash- Moths! Moths ate it! ...By which of course, I mean that I thought up this chapter finally. So be happy!  
  
Incidentally, I'm not sure if there's a special name for those white coats worn by doctors. I do know, however, that the phrase "doctor coat" sounds unbelievably stupid. "Hur, hur, better put on yer DOCTOR COAT, so's people know yer a DOCTOR!" Therefore, I apologize for using it.  
  
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Quite a bit down the hall from Mr. Stevens's office, a crowd had begun to gather in the waiting room. This collection of curious gawkers was focused on two men, who were causing some considerable trouble with a receptionist. The first man, who had a thick Italian accent, dominated the conversation. His companion remained silent, though not quiet, per se. He instead said his piece through the use of an oversized bicycle horn. At the moment, the Italian man had somehow managed to reel in a doctor who was passing by, and was talking at great length with him.  
  
"Hey mister, I-a wanna know why no one will treat my friend here."  
  
Much irritated at being grabbed from the hallway in this manner, the passing doctor tried to end the conversation. "Yes, well I'm sorry, but I'm just on my way to see a patient, and I-"  
  
"Listen, nurse..."  
  
"*Doctor.*"  
  
"No, I'm-a no doctor, but-"  
  
"No, me?"  
  
"You?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"What?"  
  
"I'm a doctor."  
  
The Italian man smiled and gave the doctor a friendly punch on the arm. "Hey, atsa good for you. But listen, this man, he's very sick." His companion made a face at that remark.  
  
Afraid that he wasn't going to find an easy way out of this, the doctor resigned himself. "What's his problem?"  
  
"Show 'im what your problem is, Knock." The Italian man replied. Knock smiled and, without any obvious discomfort, lifted his right leg to reveal a small dog was chewing on it with determination.  
  
"Oh my!" The doctor was clearly much surprised and confused by this. "But we can't treat that. It isn't a medical condition."  
  
"Of course it's-a not a condition, it's a terrier. Whadda you think, I'm stupid?"  
  
The doctor shook his head slightly, as if to rearrange it's contents. This afternoon was not going as he'd hoped it would. He turned and looked down the hallway, hoping for some assistance, but noticed none. He also didn't notice Knock cutting off a few inches of his hair as his head was turned. He tried to adopt an air of professionalism. "We can't do anything for you."  
  
"Aw, come on, Doc. Can't you at least recommend something?"  
  
The doctor's tone became slightly condescending. "Have you tried *dog biscuts*?" he asked.  
  
"Yeah, he don't like those." Knock shook his head and made a sick face at his companion's words. "Come on, you gotta help him, Doc."  
  
"Well, look..." the doctor said, hoping yet again for an exit. "There's another hospital a few miles down the road, maybe they can do something for him"  
  
"No, its-a no good, Doc. They don' allow pets there."  
  
That was quite enough for the doctor. He turned and rounded on the Italian man, putting himself between the two men with his back to Knock. This proved to be exceedingly bad judgement, for while he spoke to the other man, Knock stole his clipboard, his wallet and the pens in his pocket, and began cutting around the sleeves of his white doctor coat.  
  
"Now you listen to me! I've had quite enough of this!"  
  
"That's good, because I've-a had quite enough-a you!"  
  
"Yeah?" The doctor loomed over the Italian man, attempting to use his height to intimidate.  
  
"Yeah." The Italian man replied, and, glancing at his companion, he bent down. On cue, Knock shoved him hard from behind and grabbed the collar of his doctor coat. As he tumbled over the Italian man's back, the last flaps of fabric holding the coat together tore. It came off, leaving him with a pair of sleeves and no more. The two men ran down the hallway and out of sight. The doctor stood, noticed his sleeves, and made a furious sound through clenched teeth. He grabbed his hair in frustration, but a confused look stole over his face. He felt his head, quickly realizing he had much less hair than usual, and made the sound again, but louder. He looked down at himself and felt his pockets, then he spaced his legs apart, raised his arms and screamed.  
  
"AAARGH!" His hair was mussed from feeling it, and his eyes were full of rage. This contrasted quite oddly with the amputated sleeves hanging from his arms. "What are you all staring at?!?!!" He demanded of the crowd in the waiting room.  
  
Down the hall, the two men laughed. The Italian man stopped fairly quickly, but the other one went on and on, childlike. The Italian man paused in walking and turned to his companion. "But what about-a your leg?"  
  
Knock looked pleased with himself, and pointed to his head.  
  
"Oh, you thought-a something?"  
  
He nodded vigorously, smiling, then held up a large, plastic chew toy, which the dog was attacking with equal ferocity.  
  
The Italian man laughed. "Atsa good. C'mon."  
  
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I swear they'll all meet each other next chapter. You'll even get to hear Chico's name! 


	3. Look Both Ways

Even I can't believe I went almost a year without updating. Shame, shame, shame.  
  
I notice that my writing on this fic follows a certain pattern: For months and months, I'll be unable to form a single word. Then, for no clear reason, I'll suddenly write the whole thing in just a day or two. It's maddening. But between the kind and oh-so-generous reviews, a few dozen screenings of Room Service, and a very ...wrong... dream involving Harpo, I've managed to pump out this chapter. I hope you enjoy it.  
  
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And so, the two men walked through the hospital, trying to look casual while searching for an exit. Meanwhile, in a hallway running perpendicular to the one these two were traveling, Dr. Penknife walked (in an oddly crouched position) while Harrison hurried to keep up. Some otherworldly force must have been timing their pace, because both pairs turned the corner as one, resulting in a collision reminiscent of a human car crash.   
  
"Help!" Dr. Penknife cried, "I have whiplash! Trauma! I've fallen and I can't get up!"   
  
Harrison pulled on Penknife's arm and helped him off the ground, which did nothing to silence him. "You'll be hearing from my lawyer! And my lawyer's lawyer, and my lawyer's lawyer's lawyers! How many lawyers is that?" he asked Harrison, then continued without waiting. "Never mind, one is too many."   
  
He dusted himself off vigorously, giving a slanted eye to Knock, who was joining him in dusting. He took a cigar out of his pocket, which Knock quickly transferred to his own. "Please, help yourself." Penknife smiled with sarcastic friendliness. "Do you need a light? Ah, I see you have my matches as well." He turned his attention to the fourth man. "Have we met somewhere before?" he asked.  
  
"No, I don' tink so." The Italian man replied, tapping his head. "I gotta pretty good memory for funny lookin' faces."  
  
Penknife glanced back at Knock, who was puffing the cigar ferociously with too-wide eyes. A cloud of smoke enveloped him. "Yes, I can see why." He responded. "Now then, what's the big idea, running blindly down the hallway? Don't you know this is a hospital?"  
  
"No, you see, it's like-a dis..." he put one hand on Penknife's shoulder and gestured grandly with the other as he spoke. "The two of us, we walk up to dis building. An' right in front, there's a big sign, saying 'Stevens Healthcare.'" He solemnly shook his head. "An itsa no good. Neither of us is named Steven." He gestured to Knock, who nodded assent through the cigar cloud. "I'm Vorreli and he's Knock, but no Stevens."  
  
"Then why'd you come inside?"  
  
"Well, we figured we'd-a take the chance that Steven wasn't there."  
  
"He's not the only one not all there." Penknife muttered. "Please continue, this is fascinating. I'll just be listening from two towns over." He gestured to Harrison, who, minus a sleeve, walked up to him. "C'mon Harrison, we've got thirty-five thousand dollars to spend." He turned, looking away from his companions to some unknown point in the distance. "Back now, that's a lot of money." The two of them began to leave.  
  
Vorreli seemed to have other ideas. "Thirty-five thousand dollars?" He repeated. Knock swallowed the cigar and the two of them chased after Penknife.   
  
"Wait a minute..." Vorreli called. "I feel faint! Oh, do I feel faint! I think I hit my head when you ran into me."  
  
"Good," Penknife replied, "maybe I knocked a few things back into place."  
  
"No, it's just the other way 'round." Vorreli's eyes went wide while the others looked on. "I'm seein' spots!" he declared.   
  
"Too bad, I hear stripes are in this season."  
  
Harrison felt around Vorreli's neck and shoulders. "I don't think any bones are broken."  
  
"That won't last." Dr. Penknife replied.  
  
"Now I'm seeing nothin'!" Vorreli declared. "Everything's gone black!"  
  
"Well if a paisley shirt appears, give me a call." Penknife replied, as Vorreli fainted with dramatic flourish. Harrison caught him and eased him to the ground, fanning him with an open palm. Penknife then turned his attention to Knock, who was not respecting the rules of personal space. "And what's your problem?" he asked.  
  
Smiling, Knock opened his long overcoat and pulled out the plastic chew toy, which had acquired another dog. The two canines growled at the doctor before Knock slipped them both back in.  
  
Dr. Penknife raised an eyebrow. "You know," he said, "I'm a very brilliant neurosurgeon, and I think I could remove that brain that's been troubling you."  
  
Knock shook his head, taking a plastic molded brain out of his coat and kissing it.   
  
Dr. Penknife shrugged. "Well, I never was much for models."  
  
"But Arthur, what about him?" Harrison asked, pointing to Vorreli.  
  
"Oh. Call a doctor for the poor man."  
  
"But you're a doctor, doctor." Harrison protested. "Don't you remember?"  
  
"I am? Well in that case, don't call the doctor. I wouldn't trust myself as far as I could throw me."  
  
"Wait a minute. You're a doctor?" Vorreli flew to his feet, (making a fantastic recovery,) and walked up to Penknife. "In that case, he an' I are both qualified nurses."  
  
"Nurses?" Dr. Penknife smiled sweetly, bobbing his head up and down. "Oh, well, that's different isn't it? I suppose you know first aid?"  
  
"Sure we do. First aid, second aid, lemonade, we know everything."  
  
"I could kiss you if I had a fatal illness. What else do you know?"  
  
"Show him what else we know, Knock."  
  
Eagerly, Knock pulled a functioning harp out of his coat and started to play it.  
  
"Oh no," Penknife said, cutting him off. "There'll be none of that here."   
  
Knock shrugged and threw the instrument down the hallway. Several crashing noises followed.   
  
Penknife rolled his eyes heavenward and ran his fingers through his hair, then smiled and turned to Vorreli. "I've seen all I need to see, you're hired." He said, shaking Vorreli's hand. "Now go away and never bother me again."   
  
Penknife dashed down the hall, with Harrison in tow. At the end of the hallway he turned around and yelled back at the other two.  
  
"Stick around and maybe someone'll discover a cure for you!"  
  
Knock stuck another of Penknife's cigars in his mouth. 


	4. Better Off Sick

This chapter ran a little long, so I had to cut it in half, meaning the scene that begins here will be continued in the next chapter. Also, as long as I'm here, I'd like to post some propaganda for an extremely cool challenge that Qoheleth is hosting. It's called The Great AFI Screen Characters Challenge.

Here's what happens- you e-mail Qoheleth and tell him you're interested. Then, he chooses a random name from AFI's list of the 50 greatest heroes and 50 greatest villains in American cinema. You then write a story about whomever he chooses. Sound fun? The challenge, as well as Qoheleth's e-mail, can be seen on his profile.

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"I just don't understand it." Stephens declared.

Near him, Dr. Greensleeves leaned over a man in a light paper gown and muttered. "I've tried every procedure I know, taken advice from every doctor that's put pen to paper." He paused to scratch the back of his head, which had an uneven look, as if someone had taken a scissors to it. "I've thrown every pill at it, every serum, and I can't get rid of those headaches. I'm through."

Mr. Stephens wrung his hands impatiently. "Surely there's something you haven't tried." He glanced at the grey-haired gentleman seated on the table. The expression on the man's drawn face showed that he was unaccustomed to the compromise in dignity that hospital gowns afforded.

Greensleeves shook his head. "There's no cause I can see. I've been telling you for weeks that his symptoms are psychosomatic, but you refuse to listen." He made no attempt to keep the frustrated anger out of his voice. "I'm telling you right now, anyone willing to treat this patient any further is either possessing of singular compassion, or complete lunacy!"

The instant Greensleeves had finished his sentence, another loud voice came from down the hall.

"This place has got more dead ends than a game of shoots and ladders." Dr. Penknife said, gliding past the door.

Stephens managed to keep himself from doing a double take. "One moment…" he said to the sick man, moving into the hallway. He grabbed Dr. Penknife by the arm. "You're just the man I want to see…"

"Thank you, you're quite a sight yourself."

"Here, follow me." Stephens replied, pulling him into the room.

"Now hold on here, I've got a house call to make at the nearest bar! What's the idea?"

"Please, just take a look at this patient."

"I'm really in a hurry, can't you send me a photo?" By this point he had been led next to the patient. He turned and whispered to him. "Don't look now, but I think you're being talked about."

"Come now, doctor, I'd think someone with your skill could discover his problem in moments." Stephen's tone was half-sarcastic, and suggested that the matter of Penknife's skill was very much up for debate.

"Of course I can discover his problem. Why, I've cured thousands of people sicker than him- sicker than you, even!"

"Well!" Stephens snapped, most offended.

"No, not well at all, that was the problem. They even named a disease after me, called it Arthur-its."

"Arthritis." Corrected Greensleeves.

"Gesundheit." Penknife replied. "Now where was I? Oh yes. A mighty fine doctor I'd be if I couldn't help this guy, right?"

"I couldn't have put it better myself." Stephens replied.

"Not with that mouth anyway. Yes, a fine doctor I'd be then…" Penknife turned to the sick man and cleared his throat loudly. "Now, what's wrong with the man, besides having me for a doctor?"

Mr. Stephens opened his mouth to describe something, but Greensleeves cut him off. "He's a hypochondriac," he said with some satisfaction.

"Funny, I'd have pegged him for a Presbyterian." Penknife replied. He cleared his throat again. And again. He continued clearing his throat for quite some time, bouncing gently on his heels as he did so. After several minutes he addressed the patient.

"All right now… uh, stick out your tongue," he said. The sick man obeyed. "Now put it back in, don't you know that's impolite?" he cast a hasty glance to the other two men. "Now raise your right hand." He paused while the sick man did so. "Now your left hand. Now put your right hand in, put your right hand out, put your right hand in and shake it all about."

It was about this moment that Harrison walked in, having been lost somewhere behind Penknife in the hall.

"Ah, glad you could make it Harrison," Penknife replied, "we're examining a patient, and at the rate you're moving you should be ready in time for the funeral."

"Yours or his?" Harrison whispered to Penknife.

"Keep sassing me like that and we'll make it a hat trick." Penknife whispered back. He then returned his attention to the patient and began clearing his throat once more, much to the annoyance of everyone.

"Maybe you should ask him to describe his symptoms." Harrison suggested.

"If I need your help, Harrison, I'll ask for it," said Penknife. "Now then, what are your symptoms?"

"Well," the patient began, "I've been getting the most un_bear_able headaches lately…"

"Your head hurts, eh? Well, keep off it." Penknife turned to leave. "There we are, patient's cured…"

Dr. Greensleeves caught him on the way to the door and, with a clashing of voices, Penknife was turned around.

"All right, all right." Penknife continued. He turned back to the patient. "So your head hurts. Well, does it hurt when you go like this?" He held up two fingers and waggled them in the air.

"No." was the patient's reply.

"Good, then you can hail me a taxi because I'm leaving." He turned around again, to be stopped again by Stephens and Greensleeves. Their voices were mingled incomprehensibly in an argument, when Vorreli and Knock burst in.


	5. Testing

"Hey Doc," Vorreli said, "I wanna ask you som- oh." He stopped suddenly when he saw Penknife with another doctor and a man in the hospital gown. Apparently, he was putting two, two and two together. His abrupt halt caused Knock to run into him and, consequently, jump on his back. "I can see you're busy, uh, we come back later."  
  
Vorreli then turned around and began walking very quickly in the opposite direction. In response, Greensleeves grabbed Knock's shoulder, pulling both of them back into the room and, at the same time, pulling Knock off Vorreli.  
  
"No, no..." he said, leading them to the patient. "If you work with Dr. Penknife, you'll want to take a look at this man too."  
  
"If anyone else wants to look at you, you can start charging for it." Penknife whispered in the patient's ear.  
  
"Doctor, you still haven't told me what's wrong with him!" Stephens shouted in frustration.  
  
"Is somebody sick?" Vorreli asked.  
  
"Don't be silly, who would be sick in a hospital?" Penknife replied. "Now come on, let's examine this man."  
  
The four of them surrounded the patient and, in unison, put their hands to their chins and leaned forward. The sick man suddenly looked much, much sicker.  
  
"Well, what do you think, nurse?" Penknife said.  
  
"I tell ya," Vorreli replied, "I think we should run some tests first."  
  
"True/False or multiple choice?"  
  
"Better be the second one, I don't have a coin to flip."  
  
"You're off to a great start, testing my patience."  
  
"Well, the patient's what we're here to test, right?"  
  
"You were dropped on your head a lot, weren't you? I'll bet some of it even happened when you were a child. You say you want to run some tests, eh? Okay, we'll start by testing his reflexes. Harrison, get me the rubber mallet."  
  
At that, Knock whistled and shook his head. Then he held up a finger and produced a large wooden mallet from his jacket, which he proudly presented to Penknife.  
  
"Well it's not rubber but it'll do." Penknife said, smiling and taking the mallet. "If nothing else, this'll give us an ailment we can identify- a broken leg." He drew the mallet back dramatically, held it at it's apex for a moment, then slammed it downward. He stopped inches from the patient's knee, but everybody winced all the same. He then gave the knee a little tap, and the patient's leg shot upwards.  
  
"You see," Penknife said, turning to Stephens and Greensleeves, "the knee is by and large the most overlooked part of the body. That's because it's so often located much lower than the eyes."  
  
As he said this, he continued tapping with the mallet. With each tap he made, the leg rose a little bit higher, until it was almost parallel with Penknife's head. "That's odd." He remarked, "does anyone else feel a breeze?"  
  
He turned back to the patient, only to see that somewhere in the course of all this, Knock had jumped onto the table and moved his own knee in place of the patient's knee. He continued swinging it upwards after Penknife stopped tapping it.  
  
"Get off that poor man there, he has enough diseases as it is." Penknife remarked.  
  
The patient stood, sending Knock to the ground. "Do you really think I have something?" he asked.  
  
"Nurse?"  
  
"I dunno, I think we needa few more tests." Vorreli replied.  
  
"All right, next we'll test your vision." Penknife pulled a sheet of paper out of his pocket and held it up in front of the patient. "Look at these blotches and tell me what you see."  
  
The patient considered this a moment. "Well, it looks like an ostrich."  
  
"Are you kidding?" Vorreli replied. "That? No, that's an elephant."  
  
"Well I think it looks like an ostrich."  
  
"You're both wrong," said Penknife. "It's my pen, and it's broken."  
  
"What do you think, Knock?"  
  
In lieu of a reply, Knock took a whistle from his pocket and blew it, very loudly, next to the patient's head.  
  
"Aaugh!" the patient cried.  
  
"Ah, good." Vorreli said.  
  
"What's good?!"  
  
"Your ears work. Asta good."  
  
"Well, I've seen all I need to see." Penknife declared. "This man has a clear-cut case of Atisetisitisetisosis. Don't you agree nurse?"  
  
"Nah." Vorreli said.  
  
"What, you don't like it?"  
  
"Nah. Too many etises."  
  
"What, you think I should take one etis out and leave just the one?"  
  
"One is too many, you can take both etises out."  
  
"Well wait a minute, how about I take out one etis and you take out the other etis."  
  
"Okay, but I got no place to take her."  
  
Penknife grabbed his own hair and pulled backwards.  
  
"Never mind." Vorreli said, shaking his head. "I don' like Edith anyway. Who else you got in there?"  
  
"Who else?" Penknife counted off on his fingers. "Well, if we get rid of the etises, there's an atis, an itis and an osis."  
  
"Well, I'll tell ya what we do, Doc. We tell itis that she can't hang around here no more... then when she goes to tell etis about it, we change the locks and pretend to be out."  
  
"Well, it sounds reasonable so far."  
  
"An' while that's happening we send osis out to the corner for groceries. Bread, milk an' asparagus."  
  
"What, no eggs?"  
  
"Nah, we got plenty eggs. So while she's out with the groceries, whadaya think we do? We change the locks again!"  
  
"Well that's all right for her, but what about atis?"  
  
"Don' worry 'bout her, she's a friend of Edith. See, she left when they left."  
  
"Ah."  
  
"So the itis's gone and the osis's gone, and now we got something!"  
  
Dr. Penknife considered this "So there's no etises, no itises, no atises and no osises? There's no more disease left. He's cured!" He leapt up and shook hands with Vorreli. Knock, who had made his way onto the patient's lap again, shook hands with Vorreli while Penknife shook hands with Harrison, and so on.  
  
"I'm... cured?" the patient muttered, sounding dazed. "Yes... I'm cured. I don't have to come back here any more..." With renewed energy, he shook the hand of Dr. Penknife, who was still engaged in several other handshake exchanges. "Thank you..." He walked happily to the door, seemingly unaware that he was still in a hospital gown. On the way out he shook Stephen's hand as well. "Thank you," he repeated, and left.  
  
Mr. Stephens buried his head in his hands. 


End file.
